


That Game

by DardalionWrites



Category: RWBY
Genre: Blindfolds, Consensual Somnophilia, F/M, Incest, POV First Person, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-11-02 01:54:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20582132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DardalionWrites/pseuds/DardalionWrites
Summary: It's a game they play each and every night, one where she pretends to be asleep and he pretends he believes her. A game played between father and daughter, and one no one can ever find out about. A game where Taiyang slips into her room late at night and Ruby does all she can to keep her excitement hidden.





	That Game

**Author's Note:**

> Anon

* * *

I hear the doorknob turn.

It’s dark. Late. A thin black mask with red Grimm eyes printed on the front covers my own, but I know it’s late because of the sound of crickets outside the window, and the fact I went to bed an hour earlier.

The door opens further and the floorboards creak. The creaking comes closer, approaching my single bed by the wall and me in it. I’m curled up on my side, back to the door, and though he can’t see it my breathing quickens. I’m tense. Tense and unbelievably nervous at the same time. Even so, I don’t move and keep my eyes shut.

I’m afraid.

Though not for the reasons I probably should be.

The creaking noise comes to a stop just behind me. There’s a momentary pause, one in which I can hear breathing. It’s almost as fast as my own despite any attempt to keep it even. It must be the same for him.

Suddenly, the mattress presses down. A weight settles beside me, or behind me. Thanks to it, I roll onto my back. Or maybe not just because of that. Maybe I let it happen. I’m not sure. My chest rises and falls, and I try not to react as a hand cups my cheek. Fingers brush over my skin and I shiver.

“Ruby,” he says, voice soft and warm. Dad brushes some hair from my face with one hand. “Are you awake, Ruby?”

It’s the hardest thing in the world not to react. I am and he has to know it. Much too still, much too stiff and almost panting. Dad knows I’m awake and that I can hear every word he says and everything he does.

He knows, but that doesn’t stop him.

“Are you awake, Ruby?” he asks again. He brings his hand lower, trailing his fingers over my cheek until he’s cupping my chin. His thumb brushes against my lower lip. It’s coarse and big. Dad’s hands can engulf my entire fist. He’s always been a gentle giant.

At least, during the day he has been. That changed a few weeks ago.

His thumb pushes harder against my lip, rubbing left and right over it as I lay still and on my back. My upper lip moves and he’s suddenly pressing his thumb against my teeth. It hurts for a second and then he dips down, gently dipping his thumb under and into my mouth. I open obediently, letting him push his thumb all the way inside. His palm rests on my chin, my teeth on his knuckle.

His thumb finds my tongue and pushes down on it. I swallow, instinctively swirling my tongue over the intruding digit and sucking on it.

The sound he makes is so raw and frustrated that my body tingles.

Or maybe that’s just the anticipation. I know what’s to come.

His thumb roams about the inside of my mouth, over my gums and teeth, my tongue and the inside of my cheek. His fingers keep brushing my face as he does, and I take the time to suck on his thumb as a sleeping person might, smacking my lips against it and murmuring quietly. All the things I do to tell him I’m fast asleep.

He pulls his thumb out once he’s satisfied, and suddenly my mouth is empty. I leave my lips parted, trembling slightly as I close my eyes and wait. The bed flexes on either side of my head. My breath quickens and my toes curl and uncurl beneath the sheets.

Lips touch my forehead.

It’s soft at first, a mere touch on my feverish skin. I wait, knowing it won’t be all if I stay quiet. Soon enough, he kisses me again, still on the forehead but holding it a little longer. He’s testing me. Probing. If I wake up he can say it’s just a goodnight kiss. I stay quiet. Asleep.

His mouth wanders.

His lips touch my brow, the top of my nose, the bridge and finally the tip. As each yields no reaction, he grows bolder, no longer taking his lips away each time and instead dragging them across my skin. They find their way to my cheek, just below the facemask covering my eyes. He lingers there, lips against my cheek and tongue stroking my skin.

My heart is racing now. My face is hot, probably bright red as well. The lights will be low so he can’t notice easily, but he has to feel it and know deep inside that I can feel everything. Some of it can be written away as reactions while I’m asleep but not all of it.

I keep the charade, however.

So does he.

Finally, his lips making the achingly slow journey down to my jawline, just below my ear. He pauses there, smooches me softly and brushes some hair aside with his fingers. I swallow audibly as he drags his tongue around the shell of my ear. A little mewl slips out and I want to clap a hand over my mouth.

Dad pauses. He’s heard it. “Are you awake?” he whispers, his hot breath caressing my wet, tingly ear.

No. No, I’m asleep. I hold my breath, then realise that’s not what a sleeping person does and let it go. My chest rises and falls. My face remains slack, my breathing not quite even but somewhere close. Under the blanket, my fingers are gripping and bunching up the sheets.

“Ruby…?”

My lips remain parted. My face red. My eyes are shut, even though if I had them open, I still wouldn’t be able to see past my mask. His hot breath is on my ear again and I shiver. It’s a small, easily missed gesture.

The gasp that slips out when his tongue pushes into my ear is not.

I try my hardest not to writhe as his wet, hot, tongue pokes around my ear, sliding over the shell, inside, then out again as he draws my lobe between his lips and nibbles on it. My stomach clenches and my thighs tingle. Something wet drips down my legs.

He leaves my ear all too soon, kissing his way down my jawline toward my chin. I feel both upset and excited by the prospect, knowing what’s to come. He does too. He speeds up, skipping parts of my until he’s at my chin, running his lips over it and dipping his tongue under to lap at my neck.

I tilt my head back without being told to. He either misses it or doesn’t care.

Hot breath washes over my lips. They part, expectant.

And then his mouth is on mine and my world explodes.

It’s hot and soft, yet firm and unyielding at the same time. There’s no way to explain it, only to say that his breath is pushed into my mouth and his lips mould against mine, rubbing and teasing in ways that set my body on fire.

It’s not my first kiss and yet he’s the first one to kiss me. Yang has told me about kisses and how they feel, about the fumbling and the uncertainty, about the way guys slobber or try too hard. This isn’t the same. He’s calm and measured, and he knows what to do.

The way he touches me. It’s not like a father should.

I know that. He knows it. That’s why he only does it when I’m asleep and why I cling to the façade. His thumb finds my face, tilting my head further back so that he can kneel beside me, leaning over me so much that he pushes me down into the pillow. His thumb teases my jaw, making my mouth open wider. My toes dig into the sheets, expectation building as I wait for it to happen. I know what’s to come. I’ve been here before. I can’t wait for it.

Something hot and wet _rubs_ against my open lips.

My heart skips a beat. No matter how many times I feel it I can’t ever get over it. His tongue is so wet and the way he teases me makes my body ache. He drags it over my lips to get them nice and wet. I know why. I know what he wants.

I give it to him. I lick my lips.

Our tongues meet.

It’s like dust injected straight into my veins.

The brief touch is just that, and yet when I lick my lips, he pushes his own against mine, caressing and licking it. I want so badly to keep it out, to wrestle with him and moan and gasp, but I know that would make him back away, scared. It would end the game. Instead, I bring my tongue back inside, begging silently for him to follow.

He doesn’t. He licks my lips again, dampening them and coaxing me to respond. I’m only too happy to do so and revel in the feeling of him suckling on my tongue. He draws it up between his lips and I let him take it, body shaking beneath the blankets as he sucks on my tongue and flicks his own against the tip. I should really have woken up by now, even if I was asleep, but he pretends to believe I am, and I, the dutiful daughter, pretend to be just that.

It doesn’t last. It never lasts long enough for me, even if I know it’s only the first step.

He lets my tongue go and kisses me again, not like a father does a daughter but how I imagine he used to mom. His tongue swirls into my mouth and against my own but is gone a moment later. He draws back, and he draws the blankets down my body as he does, bunching them above my waist as he exposes the black tank top I wear, one strap over my shoulder and the other having fallen down my arm. It’s too small for me and shows a bit of my belly.

I know he likes that.

His lips continue to contour of my jaw and down under, brushing over the underside of my chin and finding my neck. He nibbles and kisses his way down to my throat and hovers there, no doubt tasting my pulse beating rapidly against my skin. More proof I’m awake and feeling everything he does to me. More proof that he ignores, dragging his hot mouth lower until he’s lavishing my collarbone with kisses, running his hands down over my sides toward my stomach and tracing his fingers over the bare skin of my belly.

He kisses his way down between my breasts but doesn’t quite reach them. He stops at the collar of my tank top and lifts his face from me. It frustrates me to no end, but I know it’s only a temporary issue. He crawls down the length of me, his full body now on the bed atop my own. His knees push the blankets down further until they fall off the foot of the bed, exposing my rose-print pyjamas and my toes, curled and gripping the bedsheets.

Hot breath washes over my stomach. It twitches, already tense beyond belief. He settles down with a weight onto my hips and leans in to kiss my belly softly, just below my belly button.

It tickles. I bite my lip to not laugh.

He wastes no time in kissing me again, this time making it soft and hot, and this time it’s _anything_ but ticklish. My breath comes out quicker as he makes his way around my belly button. Featherlight kisses that come ever closer and closer, caressing and teasing my sensitive skin until he’s finally there and he pushes his tongue down into me, making my head spin and fingers grip the mattress for support.

His tongue doesn’t leave me as he moves up, licking his way up my body until he reaches my top. This time, it poses no barrier and his fingers have followed, splayed out on my body on either side of his face. His fingertips push up under my top and keep going higher, peeling it up my body as his mouth continues its journey unabated.

I can’t see any of it, but I can feel everything. Both his rough fingers, his soft tongue and the frighteningly cold grip of the night air on my body as he slides my tank top up to my neck, leaving me bared to him.

I’ve never seen his reaction. I always sleep with my mask on, and even if I didn’t, I’d have to pretend to be asleep, so I never know what the look in his eyes is as he sees my breasts night after night. Does he like them? Are they big enough? Are my nipples too puffy?

Not so much on the latter. As always, they’re hard as diamonds and fully erect, fuelled by the same excitement that has my thighs rubbing together below him, just out of sight as he feasts his attention on my upper body.

My sensitive titties are already tingling with anticipation. They, like me, know what is to come.

The mattress presses down again, and I can’t help but breathe even faster. His weight settles atop me, so warm and heavy and strong. There’s no way I could escape him if I wanted to. But I don’t. It’s the last thing on my mind as he settles down atop me. It’s the last thing because the _only_ thing on my mind is the question of when his hot mouth will find my aching nipples and why it’s taking so long to-

Oh.

“Mnhhh…”

My back arches. My chest pushes up into his face and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Pleasure races through me like lightning and it’s all focused on my left nipple, gripping between his wet lips and drawn up into a hot and wet mouth. One of my knees draws up against his legs, my body helpless to stay still as that wonderful feeling suffuses me.

Still, Dad pretends to not notice it. Still, I cling to the illusion.

It’s hard. My eyes are scrunched shut. My breath is hitched, and my chest rises and falls jerkily as I suck in breath between gritted teeth. I have to hold onto the mattress to stop myself gripping him instead, holding him to my chest and begging him with desperate mewls to not stop. To never stop licking and teasing me.

One of his large hands finds my stomach and pushes me flat. It drives the air from me, and I can barely regain it. The sensations are too much, and something I’ve never been able to recreate with my fingers no matter how hard I try.

He licks and sucks and draws me up into his mouth, sucking in so heavily that I can feel all the skin of my modest breasts drawn into him. Then, he lets go, and I gasp quietly, my tits wobbling back down with, I imagine, a ring of red around my sore and sensitive nipples.

And if that one is sore, the other is practically aching.

Dry, lonely and begging for attention, the way his free hand brushes against it is _not enough_. It’s never enough. When he brings his head back down, I shift slightly, drawing my wet one away and pushing the dry one up. It’s a risky motion. It shows I’m awake, but at this point we both know I am, and that if I pretend not to be, he’ll continue.

He gets the hint, much to my relief. His posture shifts, each movement felt through the sinking of the mattress under me, and then hot air is on my desperate right boob, a second before his lips close down on it and my world is bliss once more.

I’m never quite sure how long passes like that. It’s all I can do not to cry out in need, and the brief moments where he switches from one teat to another are the most painful of my existence. I mewl and plead `in my sleep` when he does, making desperate little sounds until he’s back and nibbling on me. He alternates between sucking and kissing, occasionally pressing down with his tongue at times and even teasing me with his teeth.

Always soft, always gentle. It never hurts – not even the first time. Back then, I was scared I admit, but it’s different now. I know he’ll never hurt me and knowing what’s to come I can’t be anything but excited. My thighs have already spread apart for him, and when he draws off my chest and kisses my stomach again, trailing down, I’m fully aware of what’s going to happen.

My breasts ache, but it’s nothing compared to my kitty.

His fingers find the hem of my pyjama pants. He tugs them down over my hips. He works his hands under, lifting my bum. I help him without making it too obvious, raising my hips so he can better slide the material down my legs. He works them to my knees and then pauses. I’m wearing cotton underwear tonight. It’s frilly and pink. It’s cute, I know, with a little bear face on the front.

I twitch when his fingers touch the front.

Every touch is a surprise with my eyes covered. There’s never any warning. I don’t know what he’s doing until he rubs his fingers lower, sliding them down over the front of my panties to the seat, pushing them up against my wet and aching slit.

He can feel it. I know he can. My knickers are soaked through.

I hear his breathing pick up. His hands find my waist again, this time heavier and rougher. He isn’t gentle as he pulls my underwear down and I don’t want him to be. This time, I don’t help him. He pulls harshly, yanking them from under my butt and dragging me body down the bed a little. My head falls off the pillow and he doesn’t try to ease me back on. Instead, he pulls my panties down until they’re at my knees with my pyjamas, then drags them all off over my feet in one go.

Naked but for my tank top crumpled around my neck, I lay on my back in front of him.

Helpless to stop him.

“Beautiful,” he whispers. “Just like Summer.”

He sounds so desperate my heart aches. Mom’s been gone for so long. I miss her too, but I never had as much time with her as dad and Yang did. I’d like to say I do this for him, to help him, but I know it’s a lie and he does too. I pretend to be asleep because I want it.

His hands settle on my thighs and push them apart, showing he does too. His own legs shuffle under mine and he pulls on my hips, dragging my butt up his thighs and my core against something hard and hot.

Sometimes he goes down on me. I like that. The feel of his tongue against my slit is incredible and he can spend anywhere from a few minutes to half an hour there, licking my wet pussy until my entire body is a puddle of goo. Tonight, he’s not in the mood and wants to get straight to the main event.

That’s fine. I like that just as much.

He pushes his penis against my folders, slapping it down so that his head is against my clit. I’ve never seen it, but I’ve felt it enough with my hands, mouth and body to have a good idea what it’s like. Long and thick, soft and pretty. There’s a little hair, I know, but it’s not too much. It tastes nice, too. Sometimes he rolls me onto my side and pushes it into my mouth, then holds me there as I suck and lick it, pretending that I’m dreaming of a juicy lollypop.

There’s to be none of that tonight, unless he lets me clean him after. I lick my lips at the thought and stay as still as I can, head, shoulders and upper body on the bed and lower body, hips and legs raised onto his, my feet passing beyond his legs to touch the bed again. He cups a hand under my right knee and lifts it up, balancing my ankle on his shoulder. He kisses my ankle and leans forward, pressing himself against my wet entrance.

Finally. Finally, it’s happening.

My lips part as he pushes forward. I’m used to him now, and with how wet I am from waiting, it’s easy for him to work himself inside. The first few times were harder. I remember being tense and unsure, heart racing as he balanced me on my side, my back to him, and pushed himself up between my legs. At the time I’d thought to shout for Yang, to wake up or just freak out.

But everything he’d done before had felt good – and I trusted him. I’d waited.

And boy, had I been rewarded.

Now, I bite my lip and try to keep my breathing even as he pushes himself inside of me. A few inches at first, then more as he works himself forward, dragging my hips up onto his as he goes. Out of sight, my toes curl and tense. My hands dig into the bedsheets again and an involuntary whimper escapes my lips.

It doesn’t stop him. Not much will now, and not for the first time I imagine `waking up` and wrapping my arms around him. I’m not sure if he’ll continue or not, but the thought of him stopping and never visiting me in bed again prevents me.

It’s safer like this. So long as we can both pretend our relationship is normal, there’s never any reason for us to feel bad. I go to bed; he visits me, and everything that happens during that is a secret known only to him.

But God, it’s so hard not to moan.

He moans himself as he buries his dick inside me, pulling my body up until his hands are gripping my ass and his balls tickly my cheeks. I’m so full. That’s the only way to describe it. I’m full in a way I’d never known I needed before. It’s like I’m supposed to feel this way, except I know I’m not. Not with my own father.

I don’t care.

My walls clamp down on his shaft as he pulls out, leaving me empty, only to thrust back and give me that wonderful fullness again. My mouth falls open, breath coming out in harsh pants that go ignored. He’s panting himself, heaving his body into mine so our skin slaps together and the bed creaks beneath us.

Every thrust drives the air from my lungs. Every withdraw has me tingling in anticipation, ready for him to push back inside and fill me. My head spins, eyes rolling in my skull beneath the mask. It takes me a few seconds to realise I’m moaning. Audibly. Noticeably. High-pitched sounds, mewls and pleas that can’t be mistaken for anything else.

His weight crashes down on me, pinning me to the mattress. His chest is on mine, his hands all over me – one on my hips, dragging me back into him and the other on my cheek, holding my face still as his mouth descends on mine.

His tongue is inside a moment later. It matches the thrusting from below, penetrating me from both ends at once. He moves his knees up on the bed, pinning me even tighter against him, enough so that my legs raise up into the air behind him and I curl up against his chest, helpless against his strength, weight and physical mass.

The kiss lets me hide the sounds in his mouth and I do. My cries are swallowed, my gasps stolen. My hands clutch the sheets, bunching and drawing them up into my fists until there’s nothing left.

And he keeps thrusting, over and over, plunging into me with wet sounds that echo in the room.

My whole body is squashed against his. My back is forced down, my butt hammered into the mattress with every thrust. He pushes down on my chest suddenly, pinning me and diving lower, dragging his lips and tongue down from my mouth to my throat, where he bites down on my pulse and feels it race against his lips.

I could wrap my legs around him right now. My legs, arms and body. I could tear the blindfold off, cry his name and make love to him.

But I don’t. I play the game. I feign sleep. I lay there, helpless and fragile, letting him ravish me.

I like that more. Love it. Need it.

Dad pulls out suddenly. I almost cry but I know it’s not over – not yet. He kneels up and takes my shoulder, rolls me over. I’m face down, pushed into the pillow. It gives me a chance to bite down on it as he positions himself once more, pulling my hips up so that my butt is just a little off the bed. My fingers find the sheets again, holding on for dear life as I pant and wait, unable to see how close he is, knowing that the moment he does push inside me will be a delicious, indescribable surprise.

He teases me, squeezing and rolling my cheeks between his hands, pushing his wet cock up between them and dragging it down my crack. My legs are shaking and it’s only thanks to the pillow I’m biting down on that I don’t call out for him to just do it.

There’s a brief instant of nothingness when he pulls back.

I know it won’t last. I hold my breath, wanting to truly savoir the moment. To feel it.

The mattress dipping is all I get.

Suddenly, he’s inside me again – pinning me down. My mouth opens and my head raises. I bite down quickly, dragging the pillow up with my teeth. A moan slips out anyway, especially as he forces his full length inside, spreading my legs wide with his knees and bottoming out inside me.

I can feel everything. Every vein on his shaft, every inch, even his pelvis that’s squashing my butt flat and the heat of his thighs pushing mine as far apart as they’ll go. His chest too, the muscles and the hairs against my back as he lays fully over me. I’m trapped under him, small, young and unable to escape.

A taste of powerlessness.

And then he’s moving. Thrusting. Grinding. He’s rougher with it now, close to his peak, as I am to mine. Before, he was slow and steady, the better to let me sleep through it, but he’s abandoned all pretence now. His hips slam into my ass and his cock buries itself hard inside my pussy. Stretching, spreading, forcing me to fit him.

When he pulls out, he pushes down with his body to ensure I can’t follow. He holds it there, lets me dwell on the emptiness, and then _slams_ back inside. Every time, I bite down harder and force back a scream.

One of his hands wraps around to find my forehead, pulling my head back so it’s alongside his. Dad’s chin rests on my shoulder, his lips on my ear, kissing, biting and licking. The pillow comes up, still clutched between my teeth. My face is red, flushed, and the mask has slipped loose, letting him see my scrunched-up eyes.

There are no words. He doesn’t whisper to me – he rarely does, other than to ask if I’m awake. Even now he continues the charade, even when he can _see_ my face and the way I’m dragging the fabric of my pillow into my mouth to stifle my moans.

He keeps me there, head locked back, ear tingling with his tongue inside, hips thrusting again and again to drive himself in and out my body with reckless abandon. If there’s a rhythm I’m lost to it. All I can do is feel what he’s doing to me. I can’t even react, can’t even push up to meet him. I’m nothing more than a spectator. A toy – a toy for him to use night after night while I sleep.

A familiar sensation rushes through me like hot fire. It tears through my body, originating from below and spiralling up to my head and shoulders and then back down again, pooling around my stomach for a tense moment. It’s a feeling not unlike being on a rollercoaster before the plunge, but inside my own body.

I’m close. So close.

Dad pushes my face down and bites onto my shoulder, grunting and thrusting into me, crushing me down into the mattress. He’s close, too. Right on the edge. I hold onto my own climax, wanting so badly to feel it with _that_ rushing through me.

I wrap both arms around the pillow and crush it to my face, keening into it as I lock my legs and hold on for dear life. Just a little longer, body tense as he buries himself inside, panting into my shoulder, biting down with enough force to leave a mark.

He goes still.

Inside me, his shaft twitches. Pulses. Grows.

Hurry. Hurry, hurry, hurry. I want to feel it. I want it now!

It comes in a rush. His hot, sticky, seed pours into me, fired from his twitching cock deep inside my young body. The moment it does, the very instant I feel it splash inside me, my own orgasm rushes down to meet it.

My muscles clench, drawing him in. It feels like I’m sucking on him with my body. Milking him. My moan – loud and far too ragged – is buried into the pillow. All that matters is the sudden looseness in my legs, as though my entire body has turned to jelly.

I sink into him, as he sinks into me. We’re linked.

Not just by blood, not just by love, but by his body inside of her, and his essence rushing through.

Distantly, I remember the first time. I recall the shock, the disgust and even the way I’d touched it after, drawing it up to my face with my fingers once he was gone. It had been sticky and creamy, linking my fingers together like liquid webbing.

I’d wanted to say something the next morning. To confront him, confide in Yang or even tell Uncle Qrow.

And yet I hadn’t.

I never did. Perhaps that was what made him think he got away with it. What brought him back the following night and every night after. And maybe the reason I could never bring myself to tell anyone was because of how much I liked it.

Dad leans into my back and brushes the hair from my neck. He kisses me, light and loving once more, congratulating me without words. He lays on me, spent and exhausted, even if his cock still feels hard and wonderful inside.

He’s bathing in it, plugging me up as his shaft swims with his thick seed. One day, I hope he decides to stay, to remain inside me and go to sleep. To let me spend a whole night with him inside, then wake up to it the next morning.

I have half a mind to ask him to but can’t. Too scared of changing things.

He pulls out a few minutes later. I miss him instantly, feeling the warm rush of his seed as it spills out and down my slit. It feels good upside down because it runs over my clit. I lay still as he wipes himself dry on my butt, caking it with his sticky goo.

His hands find my shoulders and roll me back over. I let go of the pillow with my mouth, even if it’s all but given I’m awake at this point. I keep my eyes shut, knowing the mask has fallen off. With my skin flushed and breath coming out in harsh pants, we both know I’m awake.

It doesn’t stop him gently pulling the mask back on.

He then draws my top down, rolling it over my skin until it’s flush over my shaking stomach. My breasts rise and fall with every breath. I’m tired, but also satisfied. There’s a dull ache inside me but it’s one I’ve come to appreciate.

My knickers are drawn up next, and this time I’m too exhausted to help. He has to lift my hips on his own. And he does, being so much stronger than me. I love the feeling of him carrying me. Sometimes if I’m lucky he picks me up – be that to carry me when I’m awake, or to bounce me up and down in his lap, thrusting into me, late at night.

Tonight, he simply pulls my underwear back up, delightfully trapping his semen in with my slit. I feel it pushed back against me and make a happy sound. My pyjama bottoms are drawn up next, followed by the blanket. He tucks me in like he used to when I was young. Then, much like those times, he leans down and kisses me softly on the lips.

Then, unlike those times, his mouth moulds against mine, caressing me.

I want to kiss him back. I want to wrap my arms around him, pull him down and beg him to stay. I want to fall asleep with him beside me. Inside me. I want to wake up to the feeling of him pushing me down and taking me.

I could. I know he wants it. Why else would he do this? Why sneak into my room and use me night after night? All it would take is a few words for us to make this an open secret. For him to lay with me properly.

And yet I lay still. Unresponsive.

I’m afraid.

Though, not for the reasons I probably should be.

Not of him, what he does to me or how he uses me. That’s not what scares me.

It’s the thought of this ending. The thought of him never coming into my room late at night again, or of him coming into me. 

“Goodnight, Ruby.”

He kisses me one last time and moves away. The floorboards creak and the door opens, sliding shut with a gentle click a few seconds later. Once it does, I’m alone again, but no longer feeling quite so lonely. My lips curl into a satisfied smile and one hand slips down to my stomach, feeling his warmth inside me.

“Goodnight, Dad.”


End file.
